


Hot Winter

by Lovelymayor



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Thematic Thursday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 06:05:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8045209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lovelymayor/pseuds/Lovelymayor
Summary: This is a Thematic Thursday submission for /ztg/. Theme: Species-specific customs.In the middle of winter, Aurelia Canidae is nigh powerless to avoid a reproductive custom among wolves.  She struggles to resist the urges within her and the machinations of the pack without.





	Hot Winter

“You can’t resist it forever, Canidae. The will of the pack. The call within you.”

Canidae remembered the insipid words of the other members of her ‘pack’, the wolves who dictated much of social life among the noble descendants of great packs and great wolves. Her father was a great wolf – or so they always said. And her father’s father, and his father after that. Rarely did she hear speak of a female in her family line - especially not her mother, who remained a shameful mystery in the annals the alphas kept.

The Order of the Bared Fang had many alphas from various families or ‘packs.’ They came together to form a council that would discuss issues facing wolves. They planned events to increase public understanding between wolves and other species, sharing culture and history. This was typically done through shell companies; the true Order of the Bared Fang was a name known by very few. Canidae preferred to distance herself from the group.

Now it was winter, and such distance was hard to maintain. Winter was a time of procreative union.

Much to her chagrin, she could feel it happening in uncomfortable passionate thoughts and in abnormal bodily heat. It was a natural urge she fought, but also one that refused mere willpower.

Estrus.

“This visit is for your edification. Your benefit. I want to spare you another haranguing by the council come spring when you have, yet again, failed to agree to a mate.”

Wolfred Barklay was a large wolf, and greying like all alpha members of the council. He sat across from Canidae in her apartment, sampling from her collection of cognac and telling her what to do, like all males older than her. The well-ironed black of his suit was offset by an unpleasant tie ten seasons too old to be seen wearing in public. Canidae noted this internally.

“Spare the rod, spoil the _bitch_ , isn’t that what they repeat?” Canidae mumbled to herself, looking away from the wolf. He was more than a head taller than her, and while it was unwise to anger an alpha, she counted as one too. She was still youthful. She wished she could resist being bullied like this.

“I suspect you’re still reeling from your father’s death last year, so I will ignore that little comment I thought I heard.” Wolfred lifted his snifter of cognac to his lips, nose twitching with preliminary sniffs before he drank. “You’re thirty. You need to settle down.”

“Mister Barklay, I am a busy woman. You see I... I’m thinking of getting out of the private sector. Running for public office or something like that. City council. Making a real _difference_ for once.” Hope blossomed in her voice.

“Oh, you’re different alright, Aurelia.” Wolfred sneered, squashing the ember of that hope. “Recalcitrant toward any imposition of our authority. Your father would be very disappointed.”

“He was. I know.” _From day one_.

Wolfred’s eyes hardened and he reached across the table to lift her chin. Her lips parted but her eyes remained averted, lids lowered and long lashes fluttering.

Canidae sat up in her chair. Her paws remained folded in her lap, and she retained a certain demureness despite the annoyed tone she had been caught using. She dared not move at a time like this, his paw on her chin. He was appraising her.

“My, but you are something. Peculiarity to your features, but enhancing them if nothing else. Yes, I see why he hid you away all those years. Aurelia, I want you to meet my son. He’s not like the other wolves with which the Order has been pairing you. He’s an upstanding gentleman, youthful. He’s absolutely going to inherit my shipping business one day. Now doesn’t he sound like quite the mate?”

Canidae was used to such language as de rigueur among male wolves of renown. Every wolf who tried to set her up was always saying the same things – that it would be _different_ ; that she would be _happy_. She was unsure that she could ever be happy with a man. But with no romantic prospects of her own, she had little option than to entertain the whims of the council.

“His name?”

Wolfred grinned broadly. “I see you are amenable. My son’s name is James. I’ll have my mammals call yours and set the whole thing up.”

“Fabulous.” Canidae replied, lacking any enthusiasm. “Now I’m afraid it’s a bit late. Perhaps after you finish your drink and we’ll call it a night?”

“You’ve your father’s imperiousness. Hah- don’t worry. A good male can work wonders on the female of the species.”

_Oh, shut up._

\--

Chalon Bisclavret was a fine establishment on the south side of Savannah Central. It was on the bottom floor of a luxury Mareiot hotel, and any mammal would be lucky to attain a reservation a month out.

Aurelia Canidae was not just any mammal, and neither was James Barklay.

Canidae arrived a little after seven thirty, sporting a wine-colored dress and a pearl necklace. She held a Preyda clutch at her side and waved to her driver with her other paw as she disembarked from the private vehicle that delivered her to and from appointments. As she surveyed the restaurant's entrance, she worriedly reminded herself that this was breeding season for wolves, and even though her body was telling her she should be sealing the deal tonight, she wanted to do anything but.

_This is looking more and more like a disaster._

The quiet clink of silverware on plates greeted Canidae as she stepped into the entrance of the restaurant. The din of conversations was almost distractingly pleasant, like the roll of ocean waves. She rolled her shoulders, letting her thick, peach-colored winter coat fall down to her elbows, and approached the host’s podium.

“Good evening. I’m here for a dinner under Barklay.”

The dapper deer held the phone he had been talking into against his chest.

“Oh! Miss Canidae. Yes, we’ve been expecting you. I’m so sorry I didn’t see you come in. We would have had you taken care of.”

A brief smile played across Canidae’s glossy ruby lips. “Not to worry. I’m not concerned with all that pomp. Simply take me to my table, won’t you?”

The deer hurriedly hung up the phone and slid out from behind the podium, opening his arm and directing Canidae into the dining room. They passed through the myriad of mammals, all dressed well, all absorbed in their own evenings. Tables ranged from small to jumbo, and the ceilings were high enough that chandeliers hung over the heads of even giraffes. Canidae arrived at James’ table to find the wolf standing for her.

James Barklay was indeed of younger stock. He had to be about Canidae’s age, with a dashing cut to his features and light grey fur with a white front. His fur was combed up between his ears, and he was wearing a rose on his lapel, as well as a gilded tie pin. His tie was crisp, and definitely en vogue.

“Miss Canidae! My father didn’t see fit to share just how _ravishing_ you were, my dear.”

Canidae held out her paw, and James kissed its back. “Oh, come now, no need to be so flattering.”

_No need at all, you bloviating sleaze._

“Flattery is false; _you_ are as real a woman as I ever imagined.”

As she sat, Canidae could feel her stomach turn. And to think, she hadn’t even eaten yet.

“Thank you, James." _I suppose your father would be upset if I didn’t at least accept your compliments._

Canidae laughed softly as she spoke, and James offered his own laugh in return. He didn’t laugh with his eyes, though. Instead, they scanned her body as the host removed her coat, showing her bare shoulders and elegantly conditioned dark-grey fur.

A menu was placed down in front of each of them. Canidae knew this man would doubtless want to order _for_ her; she  _hated_ being ordered for.

A few minutes passed in silence as Canidae perused the menu, afraid to broach further conversation. Her tail languidly swished below her chair as she read the descriptions. She could feel James' eyes on her, and knew that if she looked up he would speak to her again.

“Your orders?” The waiter was standing next to her when she looked up; a squinting zebu with polished horns.

“Ah, _yes, thank you_.” Canidae began. “This seared salmon sounds wonderful. With the sweet cherry glaze? I’ll have that.” As she folded her menu, she heard James pipe up and order a rare bug steak and rosé wine.

_Rosé? That pairs well with salmon. I didn’t think this oaf would know his wine._

“Aurelia, you’re a very clever business woman, if I believe all I’ve heard of you. Black Claw, a fine company. Do you suppose you’ll take the reins of your father’s company now that- well.”

Canidae shook her head. She took a sip of water, struggling against the dryness in her throat. “I don’t know... I’ve distanced myself from his affairs until now.”

She began to notice the smell of food, and also felt a dull hint of the arousal between her legs, spurred on by the flood of hormones during the estrus season. She told herself she didn’t know what was causing it, even as her thoughts saw its long, shapely silhouette sashaying through the corridors of her interest. The wolf across the table was the furthest thing from her mind.

“I suppose you’ve earned time to consider it. I, on the other paw, have had quite a bit of success overseeing my father’s import division. I’m told women like success, but I’ve no concerns about all that. I am quite devoted to the company. Is there anything to which you would care to devote yourself? Or… anyone?”

Canidae looked up, words failing her. The food arrived just in time to alleviate the seemingly unending silence, and the sommelier poured some of the wine for each of the wolves. Canidae took a moment to sample the fare before responding.

“Sorry about that. Oh, I was considering entering politics. I don’t feel as if anyone in city hall is actually trying to improve the lot of predators, you know? It’s all grandstanding. Talk. I’ve been extensively following legislation brought to council and-“

“Politics? Dreadful game for a woman, or so I hear. It would be such a shame to see you torn apart by the media. You’ve such a way about you. Such a passion. Wouldn’t you rather stay in business like the rest of wolf kind? There’s not a single wolf in city council. It’s practically off-limits.”

Canidae calmly cut and ate her salmon after carefully selecting the correct knife and fork from an arrangement of silverware, keeping her eyes on the food rather than her tablemate. She had a few more swallows of the sweet, refreshing wine, and thought of a response.

“On the contrary, James. This is Zootopia. Nothing is off-limits.”

James carved his bug steak, the sight of which nearly ruined Canidae’s appetite.

She absolutely abhorred bugs. Couldn't stand the thought of them. As she waited for his response, her mind dangled on the conversation's precipice, wondering just how she would get out of this date. Or if she  _could_.

Finally, James continued, “Fancy that then. Whatever you like. You’ll have to keep me apprised – and the Order too. We’d love to get a wolf in office, if you're our only shot. I'm sure we could deign to help you, even despite your, ah, reluctance.”

Canidae made a face, then hid her disapproval with another large gulp of wine.

“James, I really do appreciate your approval and the idea that the Order might help me, but I’m not sure I want any help from the Order on this. It will seem… disingenuous to every other species. I’ll do this on my own, should I decide to, and then I’ll consult the Order. I promise.”

James chortled, “My, maybe you _do_ have what it takes to be a politician – you’re already making promises you can't keep.”

_I can’t imagine there are women who like this sort of condescending drivel._

They continued for an hour, exchanging pleasantries. Canidae had to swallow glass after glass of wine to keep herself inured to James' _charms_. She tried to keep the conversation on track, but like most male wolves of his breeding James couldn’t avoid making his little asides and trying to seem dashing. She could tell by the way he carried himself, gazed into her eyes and smiled, that he was trying to woo her. She supposed he wasn’t accustomed to failure.

 _Well, he’s never met me_.

James cleared his throat. “Garcon? The lady and I are finished.” He pulled out his wallet without a thought.

In any other circumstance, Canidae would be happy to have her dinner paid. In these preposterous courting charades, with this _lothario_ of a wolf especially, she was the opposite of happy.

She was unhappy.

“Now hold on a moment James. I'm sure drank more than my fair share of wine; please, let me at least pay for the bottle.”

James arched an eyebrow as he handed the waiter his card. It was as if he had never heard that particular arrangement of words before. He ignored the offer and was soon returned his card. Pocketing it, he rose from his seat and offered Canidae his arm.

“Come along now. Have you texted your driver? Has he responded?”

Canidae grimaced, glancing down at her phone. “No… It’s strange, maybe he got the time wrong.” She looked anywhere but at James.

James shrugged and put his arm around her shoulders as she stood, guiding her out of the restaurant and into the streets. A light snow had begun to fall as they found themselves on the sidewalk. James slid her coat over her shoulders.

“You nearly forgot it.”

The flush of chill that had ruffled her fur moments before was exhilarating in a desperate sort of way. Canidae wanted to run in the cold, to feel the wind on her face. To run home so that she could alleviate the prurient thoughts between her ears and the smoldering lust between her legs. She couldn't believe she was letting this man put his arm around her.

She thought of horns.

Before she realized what had happened, she was in a town car being driven up down Acacia street.

_Am I drunk? Or is this…_

Every year. Canidae tried to work from home when she felt it coming, she tried to stay out of the public eye, because there was something so unavoidably lascivious about estrus. In tribal times, she would be kept inside a breeding hut where the alpha of the pack would mate her. Perhaps sequestering herself was part of the same practice, but breeding was the last thing in the world she wanted to do. Things were complicated now. Pack structures. Seniority, control, heirship.

_But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m not interested. Surely he can sense that? I’d better make myself more clear._

“J-james? You know I’ve really got to get home tonight, there’s this show I wanted to catch...” Canidae’s words were slurring, her head swimming. It was the wine, wasn't it? The wine, and the whisper of ancient biology.

“I know, dear. I’m taking you home.” James responded calmly.

 _Oh. Good. Perhaps the young mister Barklay is an upstanding gentleman after all_.

Canidae let her head rest against the window until the car came to a stop. She saw familiar sights and waited for James to open the door for her. He did, and she found herself being led inside her apartment building.

_He’s just making sure I can get upstairs._

James waited as Canidae punched in the code on the elevator, fumbling with the buttons. Then she did the same with the code on her front door. When she opened it, he led himself in right behind her.

“Lovely place you’ve got here Aurelia; your father’s money or your own?”

Canidae set her clutch on a small table of lacquered wood and turned to see James closing the door behind him.

“Mine, James. I’ve always been of the mind that I should build my own fortune. Be my own woman. Whatever I stand to inherit will have to be - I don’t know. Donated.”

James drew closer, eyes tracing the generous curves of her body below her clothes. Her hips especially. He was rather well built himself, with broad shoulders and a trim waist. He was confident, most of all.

“"So you're saying you want to give it away?" He laughed darkly. "It is quite a lot, so I’ve heard. No matter. Your coat looks heavy, dear. Here.” James slid his paw under the fabric of Canidae’s coat and let it linger against her body, stealing seconds of contact. He tossed the coat onto a rack near the door and put a paw on his waist. His other paw ran through the fur between his ears. “It’s so much warmer in here. Almost as warm I wager you are. Wolves run hottest in the winter, don’t we? Your scent is unmistakable.”

Canidae flushed, her ears turning pink inside. She backed away and felt her rear bump against the kitchen island. They were only a few meters from the entrance foyer. Her dress felt tighter than it was; her chest felt hot. Her breaths came in rasps of stifled passion.

_But I don’t want him._

“Mister Barklay, i-if you don’t mind, let us make this departure timely, shall we?”

James was already unbuttoning his jacket.

“Oh, posh. I’ll depart in the morning. You didn’t think this wasn’t going to happen, did you? Dear, you _need_ me. You need help. Your wolfhood _begs_ for it.”

Canidae scoffed, but James didn’t stop undressing himself.

_I’m drunk, but I’m not stupid._

"Keep your tie on. I'm insisting in this case. You can't stay." She found her voice was a little louder this time. A little more confident.

"Come now, dear. I know your type." James smiled, showing his teeth. His eyes sought hers, trying to lock onto them and stare her down. "You're a slut. I'm just trying to figure out what you're a slut  _for_. Is it money? Respect, power?  _Food_ _?_  You certainly ate and drank enough tonight to make me think so. What is it, hm? Because it certainly doesn't appear to be  _cock_ with you being so bold as to say  _no_ during estrus season."

Canidae couldn't believe what she was hearing. It made her shrink at first, when he began to speak. He didn't seem dissuaded by her resistance at all. Why should he be? As she was all her life, she was weak, deferential, worried that she was causing trouble within some pack real or imagined. Her thoughts swirled, passion mixing with shame, fear, and...  _anger_. Indignation. How could she let him treat her like this?

"I'm... I'm _not_ a slut."

_Stand up for yourself. Your father is gone. Your title is his. You are an alpha._

She finally met his eyes. Her roseate irises and black pupils turned to pinpoints as she glared at him, fuming.

"How dare you.“ She spat. "Mister Barklay, you’re the sad equivalent of a marital aid. And barely half as useful to me. I’ve caught onto your game by now. Young. Pursuing the daughters of alpha wolves. You’re a _Casanova_ , aren’t you? How many crudely ‘legitimate’ heirs have you sired in your tawdry efforts, hmm?”

James growled, the ruff down his neck rising. He took a step closer. He positively loomed over Canidae.

“And what gives you the right to-“

“The right to what?” Canidae reached up and grabbed hold of his muzzle - he yelped in surprise. She pushed his head away, then turned from him and walked around to the pantry. She retrieved a bottle of brandy and poured just one snifter. The liquid bounced around in the glass like thoughts of lithe prey animals in her head. “The right to tell you when you’ve met your match? Your _better?_ I suppose you could turn tail and complain to your father, but then you’d have to admit to him, to _everyone_ , that you failed in your little ‘conquest,’ now wouldn’t you?”

James’s lips scrunched in vexation. Impotent rage. The rage of a man spurned with no recourse.

“Lest you forget, James; my father is dead. I am the Canidae alpha now. I am no one’s daughter. No one’s conquest. So.” Canidae paused to take a sip from the snifter. Her shoulders arched forward, her décolletage on display as if to say _you can’t have this_. “When you leave, you can tell the Order that I refuse to bend to their little games. Their _will_. You can tell them that you were the man who made me realize this. And so help me if you so much as blink in my direction again I'll petition to have your worth - or lack thereof - placed under examination by tribunal. _Get. Out.”_

James huffed. He even puffed. But this wasn’t his house to blow down. He stood there, shirt half unbuttoned, tie loosened and looking like a fool. His paws curled into fists, but Canidae did not react. Her eyes never left him, never once, until he was out the door. She locked it behind him.

Canidae exhaled, leaning against the door for a moment to gather herself. What courage! What a display of ineffable sense of self! Perhaps she _did_ have what it took to be a politician hiding somewhere beneath her foibles and her frigidity. She pushed herself from the door and hurried to her bedroom, awash in confusing and controlling hormones and moods and a primal curse of her species that never truly left despite evolution and her own hybridization.

 _Half a wolf is still enough to stare down a whole_.

The bedroom was silent. Lights from the buildings around Canidae’s cast an eerie glow onto the minimal furniture. She raised her arms and cast off her dress, then collapsed into bed. One paw reached a pair of earbuds on the nightstand; the other reached down into the lace of her panties.

Her fingers danced against her moistened folds, and the tune of a familiar voice filled her ears.

The times of breeding and obligation were long over. Wolves wanted to be free of all the pack nonsense, didn’t they, deep down? The discussions of lineage and right were unbearable; discussions had by males almost entirely. No matter what the media said, if a wolf could have a relationship with a jackal, as her father did, perhaps there was hope for a future where the old ways no longer held sway over mammals of all species. Besides, Canidae never liked all that lupine swagger. Not when she was half.

Any worries about her past, present, or future melted away as her estrus told her what to do to make herself feel satisfied for the evening. She pushed her fingers inside herself and bit her lip at the immediate response. Her anatomy was swollen and pink and eager for some manner of release. The simple act of teasing around her lower lips was enough to curl her toes and arch her back. Estrus could not be denied.

She wondered if other women were entrenched in the same battle. Textbooks had done little to educate her.

Music throbbed in Canidae’s ears as the space between her thighs throbbed with need. Lidded eyes were gates into imagined worlds of pleasure where the touch and the tongue of an idol she would never meet performed acts she would never condone. The voice in her ears cooing mellifluous lyrical liaisons became as real as if the singer were in the room, and Canidae sighed a hot, pitiably tremulous breath.

She pushed her fingers deeper, higher; she rubbed and twirled and moaned, turning to smother her face in her pillow to muffle her erogenous exaltations. Her bra was soaked in sweat and the fabric of her panties moistened with her milky drippings. Heat tingled along her back. As she rocked there in her bed, the pins fell from her hair, leaving it a strewn mess of damp, shining fur about her face and shoulders.

The crescendo of orgasm overcame her, and she felt a wave of guilt over her licentious tryst of the self.

 _You’ve won again, damn you_.

Estrus rarely lost in a battle against a wolf.

Even one who was half.


End file.
